What's left behind
by PBrules
Summary: The war is over. Voldermort is dead. So why is Harry so traumatised? Dumbledore thinks Harry needs professional help, in fact he's insisting on it. This fic is going to be unashamedly melancholy - you have been warned.


Another plot bunny I just felt I had to get out of my head. I should probably warn you it is a deliberately melancholy story. It will _not_ have a nice, cheerful ending unlike my other fics which _probably_ will. This ones gonna be a tearjerker rather than a feel-good story, assuming my writing does the job it's supposed to anyway ...

***

"Take a seat, Harry."

The man watched as the youth approached the chair warily, his green eyes darting across the breadth of the room before he sat down.

"I think you should know that it wasn't my idea to come here," Harry said whilst glancing away from the stranger, towards the fireplace in the corner at the back of the room.

"Yes, I gathered that when your Headmaster asked for me to see you," the stranger replied calmly. "He's worried about you."

Harry tore his attention away from the fireplace.

"Dumbledore's not my Headmaster anymore," he said quietly looking at the silver haired man sat opposite him. "I left Hogwarts."

"Ah yes, of course," the man rearranged the parchments which lay on the table. "You would have been in the seventh year, I believe, if you hadn't chosen to leave."

Harry nodded, remembering what Dumbledore had told him: how he'd picked the Doctor very precisely from a small wizarding hospital deep in the depths of Nigeria. He'd been searching intentionally for an outsider; someone who hadn't been part of everything which had been happening in Britain in recent years. Someone who was unscathed and could provide impartial advice.

"So you didn't want to meet me?" the man continued. He didn't seem upset, or pushy, but instead managed to convey a genuine concern about Harry's wishes.

_As though I have a choice,_ Harry thought darkly gripping the arms of his chair.

"I don't know. I don't think I need to be here."

"It might help to talk things through; it sounds like you've had a lot to cope with."

"There's people I can talk to. I don't need to see a Doctor."

"So you have no objection other than the fact that you think it unnecessary?" Again the man's tone sounded gentle, almost as though he was treating Harry with kid-gloves.

Irritated, Harry shrugged again and stared moodily at the man who seemed unconcerned as he waited for him to answer.

"It doesn't seem right to talk to a stranger about everything," Harry said at last. "Not about things which are personal. I've learnt to hide my emotions; I've had no bloody chance to do otherwise, seeing as it's protected me and others. I'd hate to know what Severus would say about me even being here."

"You think he'd have disapproved?"

Harry shrugged, fidgeted on his chair and glanced towards the fireplace again.

"It's embarrassing. The boy who lived needing _psychiatric help." _Harry's lip curled. "Quite honestly I wouldn't want anyone to know about this."

Realising that the Doctor was watching him, Harry made an effort to sit still but the strain showed on his face.

Taking pity on him the man spoke again.

"Let me get us some water."

He moved slowly to pour two glasses from a jug on the side noting the way the boy took some deep breaths to calm himself when he felt like he wasn't being watched.

The doctor carefully set one half-filled glass of water on the table beside Harry and sat down again.

He drank a little out of his own glass.

"You know, perhaps speaking to an outsider might actually help. It sounds as though everyone around you has been caught up in what's happened. That can make it hard to talk things through when everyone's dealing with their own grief."

Harry didn't reply but instead reached for the water and picked it up with a trembling hand. He took a quick sip before setting it down again jerkily.

"Perhaps," he agreed guardedly.

"So Severus," the Doctor asked gently. "I take it the two of you weren't always close?"

For the first time the strained expression on Harry's face was broken as he looked almost amused.

"That's kind of an understatement," he said, "For the first four years at school I thought he was a miserable, old git who was working against us; and as for him, well he _despised_ me_._"

"So what changed?"

Harry hesitated, his eyes shone with pain.

"This is where the problems begin," he said at last with no small degree of bitterness. "There's things I'm still not supposed to talk about even now. The war may be over, but it's left some 'situations yet to be resolved' as Dumbledore keeps saying. I still have to be careful what I say to you."

"Everything in this room will be treated as confidential."

"That doesn't cut it for me."

"Why don't you just try and tell me what you can?" the Doctor suggested easily. "I won't mind if you leave gaps."

Harry gave him a long look. He hugged his arms to his torso as he considered.

"Does that tell you how the war started?" he indicated the notes on the table.

"Some," the Doctor said softly.

"But not all," Harry grimaced and seemed to shake himself. "I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this. I don't want to talk about it. _I wish I didn't have to keep thinking about it_."

"I can understand that."

Harry looked at him sharply, "how could you possibly?"

"Where I'm from, we've had our own share of Dark wizards, I've seen the trauma that people have endured."

Harry's eyes searched his face, "have you lost anyone?"

The Doctor nodded calmly.

There was a long pause, during which Harry inhaled slowly and hugged his arms tighter to his body.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," he said at last. "You've come a long way for nothing. I can't even talk about this."

"Give it time. You barely know me, this'll get easier, I promise. Why don't we just chat and build up to it? Perhaps you could tell me your plans for the rest of the day when you leave here?"

"Visiting Severus at Culverhay," Harry answered automatically. "I need to leave soon, actually, if I'm going to get there before it gets dark."

"Ah yes. You go fairly often, I believe?"

"I like talking to him." Harry said defiantly. "They've told me not to, but I'm still going. You're not going to stop me."

"I wouldn't dream of suggesting that, but perhaps you can tell me about how it went when you come for your appointment tomorrow?"

Harry stared at him suspiciously, "you're letting me leave?"

"No one's forcing you to be here."

_Yeah right._

"Will you come again tomorrow, Harry?"

"If I come back, will you do something for me?"

"If it's within my reach," the Doctor said curious to know what his new patient would request.

"Can we meet somewhere else? I'd prefer a room without a floo."

The Doctor followed Harry's gaze towards the fireplace, the floo would, of course, not be used during any session with a patient. He was always zealous in shutting off the floos for his client's privacy. His eyes drifted to the notes on the table in front of him and a rush of compassion for the boy swept over him.

_Of course he wants a room without a floo._

"I'll ask my secretary to swap places with me for tomorrow."

Harry nodded and stood up abruptly before turning to leave.

***


End file.
